those who were seen dancing

For obvious reasons, D & T have not been particularly bloggy this weekend. But! I have a typical cutegaychick story to tell. Wanna hear it?

Alright! Friday evening, I went to the hospital to visit baby Havoc (he has a real name now). T's brother S got there a bit later than I did, and we left around the same time - that universal "the patient is 5 minutes from utter incoherence" time, when everyone leaves the hospital. Ordinary enough, right?

We walk down the hall, and we pass a set of elevators on the left. We'd come up (separately) in a set of elevators in roughly that location, so, while we're sure those aren't the same elevators we used to get to our current location, we push the button and wait. I am a bit hesitant to get on the elevator that arrives, but S is all "oh, no, scary death freight elevators are totally fine", so we get in. [I think it's useful to note here that I have a pretty good sense of direction and generally fine instincts about things that are going to turn out to be stupid, and I have a Very Bad Feeling about this elevator.]

We go down to the floor with the star next to it - cause hi, that's always the floor you go to, right? Star = exit! It's an established design metaphor. Except, no. Star floor is the floor where the emergency staff load friendly homeless women and stretchers containing soiled linen into a second scary freight elevator with a guy in it eating a meatbull sub. OBVIOUSLY. And we, foolishly, just GET OUT. Into, like, a closet. S is getting progressively more anxious-looking as we stand there. An hour (that might be slightly exaggerated) or so later, the guy with the sub comes back.

He is the same guy who helped me find the maternity ward earlier. He is the best guy ever! So I get in the elevator (S remains dubious) and meatball sub dude asks if it was a boy or a girl and says congratulations and we're all please please please point us to the exit. Which he does. By walking with us through some sketchy doors and down some sketchy hallway until TADA. The main lobby.

Of course, having learned the valuable lesson that one must never ever do anything but precisely retrace one's steps upon leaving MCV, S and I walk out a door we did not come in, and end up in some random parking lot that appears to have pleated the fabric of space/time. It's creepy, we're wandering around lost in the snow... but this time the door turns out to somehow be less than a block away from the cars we parked 2-3 blocks from the entrance, which was just around the corner from the weird space/time door.

MCV. It's an effing labyrinth.

More evo psych jokes! You can never have too many.

Today Alas, A Blog covers that sexist Washington Post opinion piece. You know, the one about Tiger Woods and women's inherent love of babies? You may recognize it as that thing I mocked yesterday. This quote from Alas would make an excellent slogan for evo psychers worldwide: Our “youthful aggression” is tied to sex somehow, which I thought was about love, or at least general friendliness. Also, saber-toothed tigers.

Saber-toothed tigers are the answer to everything.

I like holiday music (and that's even after working in the mall every winter in college, hearing the same 4-hour tape repeat again and again and again). I like that I can decide to shop for luggage, in person, at 9pm. I like last-minute shoppers, with their sense of humor. I like shiny things and wrapping presents and tacky lights and candlelight. I even like the excess, in that it's excess wrapped in feasting and celebration and love.

You know the one thing I really don't like about the holiday season?

People who get all grumpy about talking "holiday" instead of "Christmas". The end of the Gregorian year is a big time for celebration. Not just yours. Or mine (my family pretty much celebrates Giftmas). So you could tell people "Merry Christmas", but why not wish them happiness for all Decemberween holidays instead? It's like five holidays at once, and everyone can get into it and have group hugs and sing songs about decking halls.

I get why people complain about political correctness. I mean, there you were, doing things with no intention to offend, and someone comes to tell you you're using the wrong words. Maybe they get a little pushy about it, because those not-ill-intended words upset them. But really. Look past arguments with upset people, and you're just using kinder, more inclusive language.

Happy holidays. :)

Breaking news: Psychologist who still refers to adult women as 'girls' is nonetheless taken seriously enough to have theory published!

That's not even plausible evo psych. It's just the sort of crackpot theory one might make up over dinner. Probably during the cigar course...
George old pal, why do you think the girls love shopping so much?
Why, Dan, I don't know. Could it be a convenient excuse to temporarily avoid our harrumphing sexism?
No no! It's evolution. Me man. Me hunt. It's genius! It manages to separate the men from the girls while simultaneously making me look like a neanderthal! A suburban neanderthal, at that.

And just to make sure I personally was as amused as possible, the article throws in some shenanigans about linear directionality vs. spatial awareness. Which doesn't even make logical sense in this argument.

Those silly evo psych boys.

I think brooklinegirl and pearl_o have turned me to skater bands. SRSLY. They & several other hilarious and earnest writers are making all kinds of adorable happen with their words.

Except, it was better before I read anything about the actual dudes and listened to their actual bands. Cause, right: that's why I haven't read slash about real people - the more realistic it is, the more invasive it seems. My favorite ridiculously cute pairing is less fun if there's enough 'canon' behind it to make it a plausibly true story. If it's not just totally someone's wacky imaginings, it feels pretty creepy.

I get the fanfic impulse, though. Those are some very precious dudes. I can totally support wanting them to make out.

I know. It's a cheery Thanksgiving topic. I'll post a second, actually cheerful, topic in a moment.

But. I have a question. Why is unemployment so much worse for people in non-professional jobs vs. managerial ones, people without college degrees vs. people with them? The nifty Times graphic shows it off pretty nicely (or depressingly). And why is professional unemployment the first to decline? [Well, technically it might not be a decline, adjusted for seasonality, but it didn't increase in October.]

There's a lot of reporting about unemployment levels across groups, but not a lot of explanation. I suspect that we keep professionals around to "weather the storm" (strategize about what comes next) but consider people who actually make and sell things to be more interchangeable and expendable, probably using all those cringe-inducing words like "human resources" and "human capital". Just as stock prices level out after drops... when we fire a bunch of people who formerly made and sold things. But that's my suspicion. Anyone read anything (or just know anything) that would offer a more concrete explanation?

I enjoy vampire/werewolf ridiculousness muchly. Mostly I like how we keep trying to use the popularity of a few books and movies to Explain Our Culture, as if it will respond to such fat-fingered analogies.

But Cleo's thing about romance and tenderness and eyeporn, like the best of the vamps/weres wank, has actual interesting stuff in it.

Is romance about this particular treacly version of tenderness? And am I the only person who finds the whole Edward movie character utterly slimy? If that's tenderness, it's like the tenderness of a jellyfish, about to wrap itself around your leg and sting the heck out of you.

Anyhow. New Twilight movie out, apparently.

I know we didn't get along well in the beginning, what with your rampant fat hatred and sexism and all, but hey, I believe people countries can change.

I mean. You're right. Peeing in the shower does save water. And apparently it's just cute as a button, too.

As long as you're never truly safe for work. Don't ever change that part, Brazil.

Hey there, Brazil. What's up?

Really? Arty semi-erotic video campaigns about beauty and size acceptance? You don't say! [Readers, it may not pass your personal test of what counts for pornography, but it's definitely NOT work safe.]

Brazil, you know the reason we haven't spoken is that I've come to associate you with some of the most ridiculously over the top anti-fat advertising shenanigans. Perhaps I was too hasty.

This is my song, O God of all the nations
A song of peace for lands afar and mine
This is my home, the country where my heart is
Here are my hopes and dreams, my holy shrine
But other hearts in other lands are beating
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country's skies are bluer than the ocean
And sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine
But other lands have sunlight, too, and clover
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine
O hear my song, thou God of all the nations
A song of peace for their land and for mine

True of people as well as countries. Peace be with you.